living in this hell, which is burried deep, beneath the world of pretence, i breed my sorrow and anger. the madness above matches the insanity beneath where the madness is created by the hate we breath, no one is honest, acting under a blanket of skin, which bleeds at the sight of jealousy when kindness is dim. so we are forced to act, and enact, play and die with the same spirit of detest and hate, we mock ourselves in the quest to make, a perfect world filtered of the victorious detest of life. die, die, die u bastard, die with the wounds from the sword created with my mental insanity, moulded to reality with the confirmity that nothing is true. i will see up above and wait u to fall below. u will wonder of the existence of heaven, which u left the moment ur life was slain. ( so, how tis?)
